"The warmth of your love
is like the warmth of the sun
and this will be our year
took a long time to come.

Don't let go of my hand,
now darkness has gone,
And this will be our year
took a long time to come."

-Ok Go

"This will Be Our Year

Chapter 8: Pompous Circumstances

Here's how I see it. No more of this "best and brightest" of your graduating class. No more "highest GPA, most A's, best butt kisser" malarkey. Because those are the people who have absolutely nothing of importance to say. Those are the people who have had their speeches ripped apart, slapped, maimed, stabbed, and spit upon by the administration of the high school, only to be polished and painted like a thrift-store rocking chair, and sent out to the public as though it were a lottery prize. And they weren't even that great to begin with! And the "valedictorian"? Don't get me started. Valedictorian isn't anything to be overwhelmingly proud of. All it means is the person who gives the crappy speech. They don't need social skills, or good stage presence. They just have to rave on about how "high school was a defining moment in our lives, and now that it's over, it's time for us to strike out on our own and make our mark on the world in a way that only we can. Because we are all special, special, special, and flowers and cupcakes and merry fun-shine magic, atop a fanciful pixie horse…"

It's a load of crap. Really. The valedictorian, guess what she picked as her "theme" for our graduation speech?

Escape From Alcatraz.

I'm not even kidding.

The "genius" of my graduating class is yammering on like high school was a juvie camp for kids who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alcatraz was actually an island used as a prison from 1909 to 1963, for the rise of gangsters and mobsters during the Great Depression and Prohibition era of the 20's and 30's, and even before then for prisoners of the Civil War in 1861. The military thought it was ideal because of its isolated location in the middle of a bay, surrounded by freezing waters and strong currents (Can you tell I did a paper on this?). If anything, we shouldn't be celebrating our release from this "prison"; we should be making sure that we did everything in our power to make it worthwhile. If I know anything, she's off to some liberal arts college, where she'll learn to rule the world and not give a care about anyone in the process.

Contrary to what many speculated, Phoebe Hyerdahl was not my graduating class' valedictorian. She was actually fourth in line for the spot, although clearly the most capable of doing the job justice. The runner up (salutatorian) wasn't much better than the valedictorian; he got very sweaty very quickly and blinked too often in ways that upset me. I only pray that he's never in a police lineup. The third in line (I doubt there's an official word for it, and if there is, there shouldn't be) skipped graduation altogether and ran off to London to pursue a singing career. She'd probably deserve the spot of third smartest person in the class if she could actually sing. Which she can't. Oh well.

Glancing around at my class, I can honestly say (without gagging) that I'll probably never forget this. I mean, I'll forget what shoes I was wearing, or where in the bleachers my parents were sitting. But I doubt I'll really forget anything pivotal about today. I couldn't forget the echo of the microphones off of the side of the school building, the white of my graduation dress and gown, the sound of the world still moving forward around us, as though this wasn't the most important days of most of our lives, so far.

I couldn't forget this morning.

"Helga, are you awake?"

"Yeah, mom, I'm in here." I replied, messing with the tassel on my cap. I had a solid hour before I even needed to be at the school, and decided to burn some time in my room. I put on a smile for my mother's sake before she entered.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart." she said. She sat next to me on my bed and took my hands into her lap. "Your father and I…and Olga, we're all…last summer when we found out…and now-"

The only way to effectively hinder my mother's erratic, though heartfelt rant was to latch on the her. The result was almost certain to be hysterical crying or more incoherent babble. None the less, she was incredibly vulnerable to hugs and immediately reacted by embracing me back.

"Oh, dear, look at me. Anyway, we wanted to give you something before you go off and graduate. It's a little early, but we really wanted you to have it." she said, relatively calmly for her. This had to be something big. Mom is like that. She's one extreme or the other.

Dad entered my room then, holding a box, roughly the size of my head. From then I deducted that I was not getting a pony. I never really wanted a pony; well, that's not true. I did want a pony. For, like, twenty minutes when I was six, but that was just because Olga started horseback riding, and I thought she was getting a pony, so I wanted one too. Then, at the end of her first competition, she stepped into a mound of "unrefined" manure. That same day, I decided a pony wasn't for me.

To add to the surprise that I was even getting anything at all, Dad kissed my forehead and sat on the other side of me on the bed and put the box in my lap. Nothing about the box was special. It was white, barely heavy at all. I looked at my parents questioningly, but my only reply was a nod towards the box.

Thinking it was either something ridiculous (a makeup kit that I'd never use) or something fabulous (keys to a Jaguar…one can hope, I suppose) I sighed, and removed the lid. Peering inside, I was taken aback. I didn't quite understand what I was looking at until I motioned to pick it up. Because if it's obvious shape (or lack thereof) I picked it up from the bottom and lifted it completely out of the box. As much of a "good daughter" I attempt to be, my initial reaction was very slight disappointment.

"A wig?" I asked my parents on both sides of me. Not that I wasn't appreciative; I expressed my disdain over having to wear the synthetic nightmare (a.k.a. my current hairpiece) to graduation, which would be outdoors under the blazing sun. I was happy that they got me a new wig, but not happy that they got me a new wig for graduation. My parents nodded at my question and then back at the wig. I haven't the foggiest idea what they wanted me to do, so I just gave it a quick once over to appease them. The "quick once over" was extended once I found something different about it that set it off from my other wigs (all two of them). "Wait…is this, this isn't human hair, is it?"

Human hair wigs are overall more expensive than synthetic wigs, and even harder to attain in the right color. My initial reasoning for it being synthetic was that it looked exactly like my old hair. And it actually felt like hair, not thin strands of plastic. This was obviously a high-quality wig, and I was sure my parents paid a lot for it.

"Mom, these are really expensive. And I don't need a new wig right now." I told them. "I was actually considering going without one, altogether I mean. You know? Just my cap." This was not a lie, not entirely, anyway. I was considering going sans wig today, but I didn't want to. It'd take more than a clean white cap to cover up my nervousness over other people seeing me without so much as something that resembled hair on my head. Call me superficial, but oh well. Maybe I am, a little bit.

"Well, sweetheart, we kind of got a discount." she said, which obviously meant something else. Why does she insist on doing that? Just come out and say it, mother.

"What does that mean? Romero never gives discounts." I was not lying there.

"Well, he made a special one for us." She said, looking at me, and then the open door to my bedroom. I was very nearly baffled beyond belief, before Olga came in the room. The hallway was dark, and I could barely see her face from here. She was dressed properly for the occasion; a blue and white (her favorite colors) sear-sucker sundress that made the most of her curvaceous figure. Whoever said marriage took a toll on a woman's body, didn't know Olga Rodgers. She could probably go on to have ten or so kids and still look like a runway model.

Once Olga was fully in my room, I realized what made her look different. Her hair, usually long and shiny was pulled back completely from her face, something she rarely did. Olga was under the bizarre impression that she had a big forehead and didn't like to pull her hair back unless it was absolutely necessary or if she were sure that no one outside of her family would see her. There was a small white headband in her hair, something else I usually didn't see much of, but I decided against questioning her. If I knew anything, she was sure to have had a part in donating to my new hairpiece. It didn't hit me, until she stepped into the light of my room how much of a contribution she had to my unorthodox gift.

"Olga…" I stammered, forgetting about the box that had fallen to the floor. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Happy graduation, baby sister." she said, just before I tackled her in a hug.

I made fun of Olga through a lot of my youth for various things. She seemed ditzy, light-headed, and slightly artificial. Nevertheless, every night, when I was supposed to be asleep, she'd sneak in my room and invite me into hers. I'd go, begrudgingly, of course, and watch as she'd turn on her stereo to some classical music station, and groom herself, while going on about school, and boys and whatever else she was into at that stage in her life. I was about four years old when the tradition started, and it went on until I was seven, the year she went off to college. My favorite part of the tradition was, surprisingly, watching Olga brush her hair. Until college, Olga's hair was relatively long; usually no shorter than her shoulder. She'd brush it to perfection, like a doll and shake it around her shoulders and let it fall down her back. It was never as long as it was back then, in her teens, but even now she wore it just past her shoulders, making her look younger than she really was.

I backed away from her, and attempted to look at her angrily. It was difficult seeing as she was A) beaming like some crazy person B) absolutely gorgeous, even with her new short haircut and C) gorgeous and undeniably happy. Party pooper.

"What did you do? And why? And when?" I asked, clearing my head.

"I wanted you to have something that would always remind you of me. And I was going to cut if all off anyway." she laughed through her tears.

"Olga, you're so stupid." I replied. "That doesn't make any sense. Didn't mom and dad tell you about yesterday?" I asked. Not to devalue the gift, but there was no use in giving someone your whole head of hair if they weren't going to be using it for very long.

"Yes, they did. But I'd done this a little while ago. Before I knew." she said, tucking the longer bits of hair behind her ears. The longer hair was in the middle of her head and the shorter hair was in the front and back of her head. The longer parts were combed forward and the shorter parts left to fall just above the nape of her neck. It was a nice haircut for Olga; it went perfectly with her high cheekbones and bright eyes. Part of me was actually jealous of not thinking of it first, as opposed to hacking off all of my hair at once. "And if you don't mind, I'd really like to see it making it's way across the stage." she said, taking the wig off of my bed, where I set it and placing it on my head. She tucked the dirty-blonde hair that really was mine, underneath the wig and tossed the hair this way and that to make it look natural. "Wow." she said, stepping back to admire her work.

"What?" I asked. I was worried for a second that I looked too much like Olga, and I'd have to resort to the itchy monstrosity as an alternative. Although, the idea of looking too much like Olga was not likely; she was gifted with the high cheekbones and soft brow that generally came from my mom's side of the family. I inherited my dad's strong brow and jaw and narrow circular nose (in addition to his quick temper and short fuse, which I don't mind some of the time).

I scrambled for the nearest mirror, which was (obviously) not in my room, but he bathroom just up the hall. I finally realized why the mirror in my bathroom was called a "Vanity Mirror"; I was feeling way too happy with myself at the moment. On Olga's head, the hair was perfect. I couldn't say, really; either they'd had it cut prior to giving it to me, or the packaging effected the fall of the hair, but it looked…well, it looked natural. It looked like it was mine. Instead of fanning out from my face like it had Olga's, the hair framed it, making me look a bit older, but not as old as Olga. The color wasn't even as bleach blonde as I'd always thought it looked on Olga. It could have been the light in the bathroom, but I couldn't help but feel like I was finally moving back towards my old life. As my dad, mom and Olga entered the somewhat cramped bathroom, I felt an overwhelming surge of pride in my family. They weren't perfect, but they tried. All this time, I thought I had to be strong for them, hide from them, even. But the whole time, without even letting me know, they were holding me up.

"Wow." I said, smiling into the mirror. Wow indeed.

Some people danced. Some bowed after they were done. One girl tripped and another pulled a pair of identical white sunglasses out of her gown and put them on. Whatever the case, nearly everyone felt the need to do something defining right after getting their diploma and advancing to the end of the stage. Even Phoebe waved at her parents from off of stage. I may have been one of the only people who just took their diploma, posed for the photo and left. What? I'm sure my family was sitting in the bleachers holding their breath, thinking I'd do something ridiculous and overly sentimental like snatch my wig off, and throw it to the wind, before my graduating class stands and thunders in applause. Yeah right. Gag me with a spoon, please. That would never happen. I wasn't going to make a big to-do about getting on stage. I've had quite enough attention for one year, thank you very much. The principal was currently blathering on about absolutely nothingness, and I was anxious to get out of this seat. The blinding white coming from the gowns of the girls around me was giving me a headache. The guys, this year, got to wear red, whereas all the girls wore white (a joke went around school after prom that far less girls deserved to be wearing such a color, but since I didn't attend, I like to think I'm exempt from that. Which I am. So there.), and sat on opposite sides of the football field. The lush green grass combined with the sea of red and white of the graduating gowns made me want to stand up and shout "Bienvenidos Espana!" even though the flag of Spain doesn't have any green in it, as far as I know. I'm probably thinking of Italy. But I don't know how to say "Italy" in Spanish. "Bienvenidos Roma!" might work, since Rome is in Italy. Why am I thinking about this, again?

Anyway, I wanted to find Arnold as soon as all this foolishness was over. I downplay graduation, but I really am happy it's here. It's time to move on, after all. Speaking of moving on, I remember why I have to find Arnold. A matter of pressing urgency is quite possibly on the horizon, and I don't even really know what it is yet.

One more ring. One more ring and I'll hang up. One more ring and I'll hang up and just wait until morning.

Wait until morning?! It'll be too late then! There's too much to do in the morning and if what's going to happen is going to happen it better get handled now.

"…Hello?"

Oh wow. She actually answered. Why did I call again? Oh yes. "Hi. Hey there. How are things?"

"…it's 2:13 in the morning, why are you awake?" The groggy voice on the other end replied.

planned to call. Guess I shouldn't have spent so much time thinking about it. My bad. "Um, well, I have something very…important to inform you of before we graduate tomorrow."

"Which is…" Maybe I should have waited. No! No waiting! Here and now! "If you're calling to tell me about your doctor's appointment this afternoon, you already-"

"No! No Phoebe, it's bigger than that. Bigger than anything!" Maybe I was overreacting. No, I doubt that. This was huge. If anyone had to know right now, it was Phoebe. Besides, she was level-headed. She'd know what to do.

"Okay, then, what is it?"

"Okay, are you ready?"

"Yes. Proceed."

"Alright…sometime tomorrow, something crazy is going to happen." I didn't expect her to get the gist of the call from that statement alone, but I wanted to slowly wean Phoebe into the idea before I completely threw it at her.

"And how is getting a diploma 'crazy', Helga?"

"Not that, Phoebe. After that. Or before. Oh my goodness." the realization just dawned on me. "What if it happens during graduation? What if I'm getting my diploma and…oh no."

"Helga!" Uh oh. I've incurred the wrath of Angry Phoebe. Here it comes. "You have yet to even reveal what might happen tomorrow that is worth waking me up for. Please get on with it so I can go back to sleep!"

"Okay, as my best and most truest friend in the world, I must inform you, that tomorrow…"

"…yes?"

"Well, let's put it this way: I think that someone, may be doing something in regards someone else after something important happens to both of them. Tomorrow." Confused?

"Helga! I'm hanging up in 3..."

"Phoebe, I think that-"

"2..."

"Phoebe, there's-"

"1...goodbye, Helga-"

"I think Arnold's going to propose to me tomorrow!" Ugh. I said it. Now that I hear it, it sounds a little ridiculous. No way, I have evidence. Solid evidence.

"Helga…did you take all your medications at the same time again?" Phoebe asked rationally. If ever her sensibleness aggravated me, it was probably now. I know she didn't mean to make me sound like I was completely off my rocker (whatever that means…maybe it means you're crazy if you fall off of a rocking chair? That kind of makes sense…), but all of a sudden I did feel like I'd taken all my medications at once. And speaking of which, will no one ever forget that?! I mean, I do it once, and suddenly it's like my trademark, or something…

"No, I did not. I'm being serious, I really think he's going to propose tomorrow."

"Helga, trust me, I doubt Arnold's going to propose to you at graduation." Phoebe said, nearly laughing on the other end of the phone. "And why do you think he's going to propose, anyway?"

Haha. Time to show her. "Well, I told you about the day the electricity in my house went out right?" I paused for her confirmation, which was brief. "Well, that whole day he was talking about not going away to college. And then a day or so later, he said he had something "important" to "tell" me at "graduation"." I was well aware that she couldn't see my air quotes, but I did them to add to my own dramatic flare.

"Helga, are you doing air quotes?" Phoebe asked.

"So what if I am? Anyway, that proves it. He's proposing for sure." I said, sitting back on my bed as though I'd just proven OJ Simpson innocent. I may look into a career in law…

Before I was fully aware of it, Phoebe was laughing. Not just laughing she was…what's the word? More than laughing but not, you know, rolling on the floor. Well, she could have been rolling on the floor. There was quite a bit of muffling coming from her end of the phone. Maybe she fell of the bed and was actually-guffaw! That's the word! She was guffawing at me. Guffaw, oh now, that just sounds awkward. Either way, she was laughing very hard at my expense, and I wanted to know why. So I asked.

"Why are you laughing so hard at my expense, Phoebe?"

"Because, you're so insane, I love it!" she said, before she began to "guffaw" again. I mean, honestly, thank goodness I'm not a celebrity; she'd sell my lines to late-night talk show hosts, and what would become of me then? "Trust me, Arnold is definitely not going to ask you to marry him. He's got way more sense than that."

"Now hold on one minute, what does that mean? Are you saying it would be a bad idea to marry me?" I asked. Actually, it would be a very bad idea to marry me. We're pretty young for marriage, and I've got a few plans that don't include a diamond ring. Well…I do like diamond rings, but I don't think I'd like to be married before age twenty-three. Probably not even after twenty-three. And Arnold; that'd just be a bad idea for him too. He was bigger than Hillwood, and didn't deserve to have to spend the rest of his life catering to me.

"Yeah, that would be a bad idea." Phoebe stated bluntly. "But I mean, hey, at least all your wildest dreams are coming true right? Now all you have to do is become president and order a pastrami on rye and save him from Lila's evil clutches. Isn't that how everything fell together?" Phoebe joked.

I took the time to pause before answering. "I told you that in confidence, Phoebe."

"And I didn't tell anyone who didn't already know." she answered back. Phoebe was getting pretty okay at this. "And besides if he were going to propose to you why would he say that he has something important to tell you? That doesn't make any sense."

Now I was getting tired. How could she not see the importance of being proposed to? I didn't understand, so I asked her. "Phoebe, how can you not see the importance of being proposed to?" I waited until she stopped laughing to ask again.

"Because when you ask someone to marry you, you do just that. You ask them. Arnold said he had something important to tell you." she stated as if she knew everything in the world. She probably does. Oh darn, now I really do look like an idiot.

"Well, if it's not that, then what is it? I've been trying to figure it out ever since he told me." I admitted.

Before I was aware of it, everyone was throwing their caps into the air simultaneously, to the background music of our alma mater (let's think about it…who actually knows their high school alma mater? No one, that's who. Do you know why? Because its serves no purpose. It is a song to praise the school. And it's probably in some obscure place like hanging outside of the guidance counselor's office, and no one really goes there…). I avoided the tradition altogether; I paid entirely too much for this cap and gown, and I'd rather not just throw half of it into the air. Not to mention the fact that when all those hats come down it's probably not a bad idea to have something to protect your head from any of those pointier sides. Maybe I should be the valedictorian…

Amongst the flying caps, I saw Arnold, who had, surprisingly, been motioning for me to come over. In the red and white splattered chaos, I made my way over to him and met him in the vacant space where the sets of boys and girls seats were separated. We met wordlessly, despite the noise around us, and before I was aware of it, I was following him off to a secluded part of the field, where no one had wandered off into yet. I would have been overjoyed if I wasn't so scared.

"Um, Arnold-" I started, before he cut me off. I had to explain what a bad idea this was.

"You know how I said I had something important to tell you the other day?" he asked eagerly. He looked so happy. Like a child who actually got a puppy. I couldn't very well tell him now. Maybe appease him for the time being and let him know later. But that wouldn't be any better, I guess. For the sake of continuing the conversation and making my brain shut up, I nodded and waited for him to go on. "Well, I hope you're not mad, but I wanted to tell you today. Don't be mad, okay?" he said, reaching his hand into his crimson gown.

Despite the sting that shot through my chest, I couldn't help but be a little excited. I may know what's best for me, and Arnold, but darn it, I'm a girl. And girls, you know, like stuff like this. Or something.

"Arnold, I couldn't be mad at you. But don't you think-"

"Close your eyes." he interrupted again, his hand still in his gown. Reluctantly, I closed my eyes, hoping against hope that I was wrong, but sort of knowing that I wasn't. I cupped the two of my hands together and awaited the inevitable. My right eyebrow shot up as my eyes remained shut, when I realized something distinctly un-ring box shaped was in my had. Opening my eyes, I was met with a big, white envelope, and of course, my brain took it and ran.

'Oh, I see.' my brain said, beginning to "reason". 'The plane tickets are in here. We're going to El Salvador or someplace exotic like that, and then you'll get the ring.' Stupid brain.

"Umm, what's this?" I asked Arnold.

"Look at it." he said, as if I wasn't already. What was there to look at? A big white envelope. I turned it over and saw his name on it. It'd obviously been opened; I could tell from the uneven tear across the top. Why on earth was Arnold giving me his old, and somewhat heavy mail?

"Arnold, I don't know what you want me to say. You got a heavy envelope, from some school in Kentucky, and you practically ripped the whole front half…", I started, finally realizing what I was saying. I looked up at him.

He was beaming.

"You got a big envelope. From a school. From a university." I said, grasping the weight of my words. "You're going to college." I said, in amazement. Arnold was going to college. Arnold was going away to college.

"I wanted to tell you first. Gerald and Phoebe don't even know yet. Just me and my grandparents. And you. Are you mad?" he asked, nervously.

"Mad? What? No! Of course not! Go away to college!" I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. I repeated the thought in my head over and over. After we parted, I took a deep breath and exhaled smiling. "I'm so relieved." I said, not really thinking.

"Relieved? Why?" he asked, turning the large white envelope around in his hands.

"Oh." I said, catching myself, but obviously too late. "You know, like, happy, and stuff. That you got into college. University of Kentucky. That's something."

"Oh come on, that's not what you mean at all. What is it really?" he asked, seeing through my weak façade. I believe I was in a predicament.

"Well," I began, deciding to come out with it, but attempting to do so in the most discreet and subtle way possible. "I thought…you know, because you said that you had something important to tell me…that, you know…" I trailed off. This was going smoothly.

"That what?" he urged.

"I thought that, check this out, you were going to propose to me. Isn't that funny?" I asked, followed by a half-hearted laugh that dripped with awkwardness. Upon hearing no laughter from Arnold, I abruptly stopped, making it look that much more…fake. Which it was. "Guess not. I mean, usually when one of us has 'something' to tell the other, it's generally not a good thing."

"You thought I was going to propose to you?" he asked, as though he wasn't sure if he'd heard me correctly.

"Well for the sake of argument, I was going to say no anyway." That was dumb. Way to keep the awkwardness to a minimum, Helga.

"You would have said no?!" he asked, shocked, but not quite offended. I fear I will forever confuse and baffle any true friend I'll ever gain. It is the sad story of my life.

"Yeah, I would have said no!" I replied, obviously ignoring the rational part of my brain that was telling me to shut up. I wish the stupid organ would make up my mind, and decide whose side it's on; mine or mine. "Do you honestly think marrying me would have been a good idea?" I asked.

For a minute, he looked to be thinking, but I couldn't tell what exactly he was thinking about. I wish I were that hard to read. "Yeah, you're right. That would've been a bad idea." he said.

"Hey!" I said. Now I was offended. "It's okay for me to say that it's a bad idea for you to marry me, but you can't."

"Why not? You said it was a bad idea for you to marry me. Why can't I say that it'd be a bad idea for me to marry you?" he asked, flaunting his brief moment of superior knowledge.

"Because…it just is. And what, pray tell, would be so horrible about being married to me?" I asked, as if I didn't know already.

"Well for one thing, I refuse to work with your father. Nor do I want to live with your parents. And frankly, I'm not to eager about having children so early in a relationship." he said, non-chalantly. We'd begun walking by then, and I stopped dead in my tracks as he continued on. He finally turned around and saw the qualities look on my face. "What?" he asked.

"You had a dream that we got married?" I asked. I'd obviously heard of the dream the day after he'd had it, but not all the details.

"Uh, yeah. A long time ago."

"And we lived with my parents?" I asked.

"Yeah." he admitted.

"And I had your children…?" I asked. I definitely missed that part of the dream. I guess there are even things Arnold kept from Gerald back then.

"Well, not really-"

"Are you now saying that you didn't have a dream that I had your children?" I asked. This was fun. Arnold always got to be the rational sounding one. It's nice to change the tables a little.

"Technically…" he started, thinking I'd interrupt again. When he saw that I only raised my eyebrow again, he continued. "Technically, you didn't have my children. A stork brought them." he said, seemingly proud of himself.

I waited a few moments before going on. "You are aware, Arnold, that that's not quite how-"

"Yes, I'm very aware of that Helga!" he exclaimed, before joining me in laughter. He waited until we'd both stopped laughing before talking again. "Well, even though I'm not proposing marriage to you, can I still come back to good old Hillwood and pay you a visit?"

I tried to look contemplative for a moment. "No." I answered simply.

"No?" he questioned. We were still a few yards off from the excited throngs of fellow graduates and parents who had stormed the field to congratulate their children. "I can't come visit unless I marry you?" he asked, clearly not serious.

"No, it's just that…I may not be here when you come to visit. Here in Hillwood, I mean." I said. Oh, it's fun to string people along.

"You might not be here? What does that-" he asked. He stopped talking when he saw the look on my face.

"You're not the only one who got a fat envelope from a college." I said, matter-of-factly.

"What? Where? When?" Arnold asked, clearly more ecstatic than I was when he told me of his acceptance. Maybe because he wasn't about to die of nervousness, thinking I was going to ask him to marry me.

"Vassar. About an hour south. Just recently. I turned in my application late, but I guess they saw something worth accepting." I said. I was calm on the outside, but I was nearly falling over inside. My biggest fear was that cancer would keep me from doing everything I wanted to. To be honest, I don't think I would have had the courage to apply for a school like Vassar if I hadn't already displayed it in regards to something as big as cancer. Speaking of which, I nearly forgot to tell him the rest of my news. "It's going to be weird, though." I said.

"What is? Being away from home?" Arnold asked, concerned.

"Well, that too, I guess. It's just that…" I trailed off, looking distraught. Maybe I should major in acting. "This whole year…I got three days off school for chemo."

Arnold looked almost upset, and for a minute I contemplated ending the joke and just coming out with it. The thought left as quickly as it came, though.

"And now…I don't." I finished. I looked at him and waited for a response. I was met with confusion. "I mean, how am I going to handle going to school everyday, all week? That's going to be a big change if nothing else." I said, as though not divulging anything important.

"Wait, you…I'm confused, you…" he stammered. He certainly looked confused, but there was something else there. Color me cliché, but he looked, incredibly honest. It was very nearly the most honest Arnold I'd ever seen.

"Arnold, I'm on remission. I still have to do a few tests and I have some meds to take to get my immune system back to normal, but yeah. I'm on remission." I said, nearly breaking down myself. I was on remission. No detectable traces of cancer within me. I'd found out yesterday; I hadn't planned on having such an important doctor's appointment a day before my high school graduation, but it was the only day they had available, and I really wanted to know before I got too excited about Vassar. The fact that they accepted my application late was phenomenon enough, and I definitely didn't want to push it. Of course, there was no guarantee to remission. There was no 'cure' for my cancer, and there was no way for me to know in advance how long one would stay in remission. Cancer could come back at any time for any reason. But for the time being, I was relieved. I was a high school graduate, cancer survivor, and pleasantly unengaged. A good year, overall.

"But now, so like…you're better? Like, you're going to be alright?" Arnold asked. If I hadn't known better, I'd have expected him to ask me to pinch him to make sure he wasn't dreaming. To be perfectly frank, I wasn't entirely sure if I was dreaming or not.

"Yeah, for now, I guess." I admitted, becoming suddenly bashful.

Instead of any words, Arnold pulled me close to what would have been a bone crushing hug, had I not anticipated it. By now, I was sure that my parents were either looking for me frantically, Olga following closely behind with her fancy camera, waiting to take a hundred-million photos. That or they saw from the stands what was going on and decided against interrupting. I would like to think that it's the latter, but more than likely the former. After Arnold finished suffocating me with his broad chest and cheap cotton graduation gown (not to mention repeating the same line over and over, though I couldn't tell what it was, I knew he was saying it over and over), we parted, if that's what you chose to call it. We were still within pretty close proximity of one another, standing, waiting, breathing. The usual.

It seemed like I was going to have to be the one to speak up. Go figure.

"Is this going to be the awkward silence before we kiss?" I asked, frankly.

He looked almost taken aback for a minute, probably from my bluntness, and then glad. I swear, I have to do everything in this twisted little relationship.

"Well, only if there's any chance of you actually kissing me. Then, yes, it might be."

Might be? I wasn't going to settle for that. It's my graduation, I got into college, I'm on remission. If not a brand new Mustang, I deserve at least a kiss. "I'm not going to kiss you, Arnold. I always have to prompt everything out of you. It'd be much appreciated if you'd just do something without me having to tell you all the time-"

In the movies, spontaneous kisses are a big to-do. For one thing, they're big. Lots of lip and face and all that stuff going on all at once. The world stops and the couple is the focus of whatever group of people they're in and Celine Dion comes out from the forest and start to sing. That's how it works.

Umm, how about no?

It was, compared to most, very modest. He secured my top lip in between his, exactly as I always thought it should be. I wasn't sure how long the lip-lock lasted, but Arnold definitely made the most of his time. He varied pressure between the top lip and the bottom; it was honestly the only kiss wherein I didn't have to do any work or think about it at all. I just stood in front of him and…felt. Everything. There weren't any fireworks going on behind my eyelids, but there was a kind of spark. I felt his hand brush the side of my face and melted more than I thought I possibly could. I was so relieved that my brain finally went on vacation, that I didn't notice when he pulled away, smiling. Pulled by reddened, plump bottom lip underneath my top and grinned as well. Arnold kept his hand on the side of my face and I leaned it to it, only because I had not idea what else to do with it. I was suddenly too embarrassed to look at him, so I looked away, sheepishly. His voice drew my eyes back to his face, as his other hand grasped for mine.

"Your hair looks really pretty today." he said, and I could not find a more fitting reply than another kiss. How appropriate.

"The warmth of your smile
smile for me, little one,
and this will be our year,
took a long time to come.

You don't have to worry
all your worried days are gone
this will be our year
took a long time to come."

Whoo! Be proud!!! Do it! Right now. Forget all you haters, that kiss rocked. I was way less nervous about it, because I didn't let myself get all crazy over it. I think it's good. You should too.

A lot of this chapter was stolen from my own high school graduation:

1. My valedictorian's theme really was "Escape From Alcatraz". She was a fool. Her speech made no sense. Neither did the sweaty Salutorian. They both sucked.

2. My school colors were red and white. The girls really did wear white and the boys wore red. If anyone wants to see the only decent photos of me, they're from that day and that day alone. I may let a few people see, but not the lot of you.

3. The girl who took the sunglasses out of her gown and put them on at the end of the stage was…me. My picture was in the newspaper the next day. I was clearly the coolest girl at graduation. Again, some of you can see it. Maybe.

4. My sister did give me fabulous grad present, but not her hair. But she did recently cut her hair really short, and I was thinking, 'Hey…Olga would do that…and give the hair to Helga!' So this chapter goes out to my sister, who looks certifiably better looking than me thanks to her new haircut. Showoff…

One more chapter to go. Hope everyone enjoyed.

-PointyO aka Antoinette